


As a Summer Rose

by Missy



Category: 1776 (1972)
Genre: Banter, Double Drabble, F/M, Gardens & Gardening, Humor, Post-Canon, Vignette, Yuletide Madness, Yuletide Madness 2017, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Abigail and John share a moment in the garden of their Braintree farm after John returns to Massachusetts from Philadelphia.





	As a Summer Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



“I see the roses have begun to come up.” 

Abigail hummed as she turned the soil about, trying to plaster manure in the proper crevice. “No thanks to your blustering,” she said, tucking her hands to her hips. “I do need a steady hand with the seedlings, though.”

He fondly grumbled, gingerly kneeling beside her and picking up the plant nearest his foot. “I have been separating compost from shell for the past two hours,” John said. “You wouldn’t see Jefferson kneeling in the soil to till his land with the country at war against our oppressive masters.”

She kissed his cheek. “I don’t think of Jefferson when we’re strolling through cupid’s grove together.”

He flushed. “Madame!” he harrumphed, but pride glinted in his eyes. He did so love her spirit.

Turning his hands to the roses, he carefully planted them into the hole she’d dug, as if bathing one of their children. She smiled and moved on to planting daisy seedlings. In the spring there would be a fine kettle of flowers to sell, a helpful income for a woman who might be alone with small children while the war raged on around her.

Abigail wouldn’t be alone for long if he could help it. John knew if he didn’t come back to the farm, to his family and wonderful wife, Abigail would march to Virginia and face a whole slew of redcoats by herself. 

And he’d bet twenty to one on Abigail claiming a full American victory. His wife was beautifully stubborn when she got herself going. 

“Keep your mind on the field, dear,” she said.

“Of course. On the sundry furrows,” he said. She must have noticed his smile, because her hand ghosted lightly over his thigh and squeezed briefly. The earthen color of his breeches hid the stain. There would be time to consider further action – later.

A time for any and everything under the sun, God willing.


End file.
